Extasis
by radiantbaby
Summary: The morning after the events of 'Ardor in Binary', Martha and John [10.5] become more comfortable with one another and learn more about themselves in the process. [10.5/alt!Martha]


Author's Notes: This is an older fic from January 2009, but I'm working on posting all my old fics here. Written for _ebbyzone's_ birthday years ago. Beta'd by _fourzoas _and_ persiflage. _

* * *

Amused, Martha looked down into the two large brown doe-eyes gazing up at her upon waking. She honestly couldn't help the smile that broadened on her features in response. She had just sat up on her elbows and looked over to her bedside locker for the clock to see the time — 9:14 AM, check — when she'd noticed him.

There — lying there beside her, with her red duvet pulled up practically to his nose, his fingers curled delicately over the edges, his hair sticking up in impossible angles, and a look on his face that seemed to convey something between curiosity and wonder — was John.

Yes. _John Smith_ - that unusual, but delightful man she'd met just the night before. That same man she'd impulsively invited into her home after meeting him at the pub and having an impromptu meal with. And that same man she'd made love to just hours before -

_Oh God. I never do that_, she thought to herself in a panic, as she suddenly became alert and fully aware of the situation (and gentleman) before her. _What if he thinks I just pick up random men all the time?_

"Good morning," he whispered to her, interrupting her anxious thoughts, pulling her back to here, to now, to _them —_

(His voice was gentle and careful, his two simple words balanced softly between them, saying so much and so little at the same time.

Those words — a greeting, an observation — seemed, at least for the moment, to soothe and ease some of her welling concern.)

"Good morning," she whispered back, tentatively lying back down and then turning on her side to look at him.

He shifted to his side to mirror her, still burrowed so deeply under the duvet, his hands now slipping underneath it. "This is a very comfortable blanket, very warm."

She could see the smile in his eyes as he spoke, even if she could not see his lips.

"It's down."

"Down?" he asked, the arched eyebrows above those doe-eyes of his now knitting together in confusion.

"Goose feathers. It's filled with goose feathers."

"Is that…normal?" he asked, shifting the covers down a bit, away from his head, to speak more clearly.

"Quite."

"Oh," he said with a frown, but then his face brightened with a wide smile. "Well, it's nice. I don't want you to think it is not nice. Not at all. Very warm and soft and, what do they say, oh yes, cozy. Yes. And I mean, I like geese, well, sort of, well, not really, they are not my favourite bird. In fact, honestly I'm not really big on birds overall, _especially_ the oversized ones on Orneon-18, _nasty buggers_, always holding grudges, but yes, no…what were we talking about? Oh yes, _geese_, yes, I suppose I now apparently like goose feathers though. And 'down', I like that. Simple, small word, _punchy_. Reminds me a bit of lying down as well. Yes."

Martha found herself taken a bit aback, again amazed that so many words could come from him at once, in one long stream, without needing to stop or to take a breath. She wondered for a moment at how quickly his brain might actually work — _think_ — as a result, how agile the cycles of words and thoughts twirled as they intermingled behind his eyes until they finally fell from his (soft) lips.

Martha liked an agile mind. She liked an agile mind, a lot.

Her scrutiny, perhaps more obvious than she'd hoped it would be, caused him to immediately blush and to pull the covers back over himself, ducking his nose down further under the duvet again. "Sorry," he offered, his voice now muffled by the fabric again.

"What are you sorry for?"

He lifted his head, the duvet falling away a bit again. "Sometimes when I get excited, I talk too much. Usually Owen stops me, says 'John, you're doing it again', well, sometimes it is not said quite as nicely as that, mind you, but that is just him, just Owen, but he's not here to stop me this time, which I suppose is good, because it would be a bit crowded here on the bed with him, and well, I honestly like that it's just the two of us instead and -" he paused, shutting his eyes tight and sinking back under the covers yet again before quietly adding, "- And I'm doing it again."

"So, that means you're excited?"

"Excited, nervous, elated, anxious, _euphoric_…yes."

Martha smiled at him, feeling a small fluttering in her belly at his words. She couldn't remember the last time she had ever had such an effect on a man — if ever, really. She decided to just play coy. Yes, that's would Tish would do. "What would calm you down?"

"I've no idea. This is all new to me, very new."

_New?_ Martha thought to herself. She did have a vague memory of the evening before where he'd said going home with a stranger was unusual for him. _Perhaps he will not judge me for my spontaneity after all?_

"Well, what's making you excited?"

"Can't you guess?"

"I've some ideas, but I'm curious."

"You," he replied, his face blushing a deepening red that almost matched the duvet he was hiding behind.

Emboldened by his words, she reached under the covers to him, slipping her hand across to run her fingertips lightly along his bare torso. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He swallowed so loud she could hear him, surprising her.

"Not that," he breathed.

She shifted her hand to grasp the duvet and move it down to expose his face again. "What about this?" she asked, leaning over to press her lips against his in a lingering, but somewhat chaste kiss.

(With her hand pressed against his chest, she could feel the hard thudding of his heart through the skin beneath her touch and marveled at his reactions to her.)

"Well," he practically squeaked, "that's nice, but I fear it isn't working. In fact, it might be a bit counterproductive."

"I can tell; your heart is racing," she whispered, her face now hovering just in front of his, milimetres from kissing him again, as she looked deeply into his eyes. "You know, there is no need to be nervous. Would it make you feel better if I said that I was nervous as well?"

"Y-you are?"

"Yes."

"Why are _you_ nervous?"

"I shouldn't say."

"Oh." He frowned, looking confused. "Why not?"

"I don't know." It was her turn to blush. She wasn't sure she was ready to tell him just yet.

"Oh."

He looked almost sad as he regarded her and she wondered if she'd somehow hurt him by not sharing her feelings and thoughts with him when, in contrast, he was being so open with her. She took in a deep breath, assuring herself that if she made a fool out of herself, that she need never see him again, and finally spoke. "I worry what you think of me. I mean, of this. I don't do this much. Ever, really."

"Lie in bed?"

She laughed, unsure of if his naiveté was feigned or true. "No…meet a complete stranger, take him home, sleep with him…that's more Tish than me. I just don't do things like that, you know? I'm not like that."

"Well, I should think that is a good thing?" She gave him a dubious look, but he continued, "Martha, I'm truly flattered - amazed, but flattered. And you need not worry what I think of you, because I can't think of anything remotely negative in regard to that."

"You are too kind," she snorted.

"Far too kind, yes." He smiled, leaning forward to lightly rub his nose against hers before leaning back again.

"And cute, I think you're cute as well. Yes, cute and far too kind."

"Cute?" He wrinkled his nose in displeasure. "Am I _cute?_ Makes me think of small animals or something." He shuddered.

"You really are not good with compliments, are you?"

"You are one to talk," he countered with a laugh, the timbre of his voice rising in delight.

"Not as much as you do," she replied with a teasing wink.

"Look, I told you, I get nervous, excited, things come out, I can't stop them. I don't mean to talk so much. Really, I don't."

"I see."

Martha could feel her own laughter bubbling up from within, threatening to burst from her in peals, but she did her best to keep her features trained in mock-seriousness instead. John seemed to bring out a long-dormant playful side in her, and she was really enjoying indulging in that -

"It's the truth!" he said, now pouting a bit.

(She wondered for a moment how many women he'd charmed with that very expression, his widened deep brown eyes seemed to plead with her to accept him.

And she wondered how long she'd be able to go on keeping him at arm's length, emotionally safe and distant, walls around her heart ever-tended because of boys who'd recklessly trampled there too many times in her youth.)

Looking at him now before her, she found his vulnerable expression beckoning her closer, urging her forward, luring her in whether she wanted to go there or not —

She both hated and loved him for that power over her, in the same second.

She wasn't used to letting her guard down, letting people close, taking what she wanted, no, never, but here she was, powerless to it all, yet starting to feel that little bit open to it, feeling the wind brush through her hair as she stood on the precipice of an ocean that held the myriad of possibilities that lie between them -

"We never did figure out a way to calm you, did we?" she asked, trying to sound as seductive as she could muster.

(She envied her sister in such moments; things like this were always so easy for her. Men were her playthings, perpetually wrapped around her nimble little fingers.)

"No, not as such."

She could feel him trembling now, her hand still absently resting on his chest as his heart began to race again beneath it, pounding hard against her palm, teasing her, beckoning her with fantasies of passion that might lie within those heartbeats — passion, perhaps, _for her -_

"At least we know a way to quiet you."

"We do?" he asked. She closed the short distance between them, kissing him again, letting herself finally submit to her desires and the potent call of his eyes. She then pulled from him, watching his surprised, but seemingly affectionate gaze burning through her. He swallowed hard, "Ah yes, we do."

* * *

Martha pushed against John's shoulder, laying him on his back, before sliding her body atop his, straddling his leg. The covers were still warming them as they were draped over them, but feeling his body heat now that she was above him, seemed to warm her even more.

Her thigh had brushed against his hardness as she positioned herself above him and he moaned in response, pressing his head back tight against his pillow, with his teeth clenched, eyes closed, and sinews of muscle pulled deliciously taut in his neck.

(For a fleeting moment, she contemplated the beautiful sight.)

She then began to move against him, rolling her hips, and sighing as he lifted his knee slightly to press his leg even harder against her aching sex. She leaned down to kiss him again, suddenly wanting him, suddenly _needing_ him, as if a match had been struck between — _within_ — them, sparking her into action, the crackling of lust curling in plumes of sulphur in the air around them.

He still trembled below her and she soon noticed that she was trembling as well, but she kept on — yes, she _had_ to — thinking that if she stopped herself now, she might never, _ever_, be able to _start_ again.

"Oh Martha," he groaned against her lips, his own voice sounding as rapacious as she was feeling, causing the throbbing of her sex to heighten, matching the heavy thudding of her heart.

His arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her to him before his hands slipped down to caress and knead the flesh of her bottom, grasping her as he pulled her against his leg. "Yes, just like that," she breathed, moving faster and faster now, her warm wetness slipping against his skin with a delicious friction that left her both sated and desirous simultaneously.

Her head began to spin, vertiginous with thought and sensation, almost lost to it as she momentarily tried to ponder that dichotomy of feeling, to analyze it, pick it apart -

_- Searching, always searching for understanding, needing information, needing to comprehend, needing to know herself, her body,_ his _body, the human body, medicine, the science of knowing what was going on within her, what was going on within them all, to find some power over it, like a god, like a mage, instead of its puissance dragging her down deep into the undertow -_

Yes.

She felt him move his knee up that tiny bit more, urging her downward with the pull of gravity, urging her closer to him — his hands grasping at her skin, desperate, needy, intoxicated (by her).

_Yes, just like that._

She was moving against John harder now, losing herself to everything, analysis aborted, failure to understand, but growing acceptance of losing herself, just that little bit, in this moment.

For once: freedom, _extasis._

Martha knew that she could just move over a few inches, take John's hard cock into her hand and guide it into herself right then, right there, simple needs fulfilled. Yet somehow, in some way, this felt more much intimate.

To her, it seemed that it was easy to hide behind the usual sensations of sex, to distract your partner with his own gratification, but instead there she was _so utterly exposed_ before her lover, just _taking and taking and taking_ her own pleasure from him as she shuddered and writhed against him.

"I'm being selfish," she whispered against the skin of his neck, pressing her lips against the racing pulse-point there.

Even in her ecstasy, she was starting to feel a glimmer of guilt for possibly neglecting John.

(Those boys, those needy boys in her past, sprung into her thoughts, only wanting their own pleasure, not caring about hers. Only wanting to push themselves inside her, release their seed with contorted faces and cries and gasps, and then brag to their friends about conquests. They'd laughed when she'd asked for more for herself.

She was waiting to hear John laugh too).

"I want you to be," he groaned.

"But you…you need — "

"There's time," he gasped, feeling her bite him suddenly - she couldn't help herself, feeling like a feral animal as the tension built between them — and then he breathed heavier and heavier as she rode him harder. It was almost as if he were linked to her, linked to her pleasure, symbiotic, syncretic. "I want…you…to enjoy…yourself first."

"But I — "

"No." His words were heavy and hanging near her ear now, punctuated by sharp breaths. "I want you to come for me. Give that to me, please, Martha. I want you to come."

Martha leaned back to grasp his shoulders, sitting up a bit and arching her back as she moved against him more and more, watching him as he looked up at her with both desire and a bit of awe.

She was close; _oh, she was so close._ Even so soon, only minutes after she'd taken what she needed, she could feel her climax building and building, coiling in her center, ready to spring outward with its force of bliss.

She was almost gasping now, each breath wracking her body as she felt more and more out of control. Somewhere in her mind she worried she might be holding his shoulders too tightly, but his eyes, boring deep into her own, urged her on.

"Yes, there you go, yes," she faintly heard John whisper, though the words sounded so distant, so far away, and then her orgasm finally hit her, shaking her as she mewled and groaned, balanced against the hard muscle of John's leg, the texture of his skin — coarse hairs against warm softness - caressing her own sensitive skin, her wetness mixing with perspiration.

Martha collapsed bonelessly against him and hands that had been grasping her now eased to slide up softly along her back to caress her — _was that circles he was drawing with his fingertips?_ — as she slowly caught her breath.

"Thank you," he breathed, and she couldn't help but wonder what his gratitude was for.

* * *

He had just been between her legs, his mouth on her, edacious and prurient, and now he was inside her, above her, moving and grunting as he thrust within her with sweet penetration. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer, wanting to pull him deeper, to have as much of him as she could —

"Oh god," he whimpered, his movements increasingly erratic, until several long moments later, he suddenly stopped, just hovering above her.

She could see fear in his eyes as he leaned down to plant soft kisses along her face and jaw and then she saw worry in his eyes when he slipped from her to lie on his back beside them. "John?" she asked, watching him carefully, as he drew his hand over his face to cover his eyes.

Martha flanked his side, his trembling body more obvious as she pressed against him, drawing a reassuring hand along his chest. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She felt immediately felt worried — _had she done something?_ "What's the matter?"

"I'm — " he paused for moment, biting his lip, " — having trouble."

She instinctively looked down between his legs, wondering if he was somehow having trouble maintaining his erection, but, no, his hard cock was there, rigid, as it stood nestled in the thick thatch of hair there. "Trouble?"

"I think I'm overstimulated. I'm not sure I can come," he replied with a frown.

Martha reached up, nudging the hand covering his face away so that she could look into his eyes. "What can I do to help?"

"I don't — " he trailed off, unsure.

"What do you need?" She caressed the side of his face - trying to calm him, ease him.

"I wish I knew," he whispered, looking so small, so fragile.

Martha reached over and took the hand beside him and squeezed it before drawing it across his body to rest over his hardness. "Why don't you touch yourself? Don't worry about me; we have all the time in the world. Just take it slow," she said, still holding his hand for a moment as his fingers wrapped around his shaft.

"I just wanted to please you."

"You do, _you are."_

Martha released his hand and moved it back up to stroke the side of his face, smiling as she watched his hand begin to move over himself. She laid her head down on his shoulder, nuzzling a bit against his neck, and cooed as she watched him pleasure himself.

His movements were tentative at first, slow and a bit awkward, but soon he was touching himself with a sensuous fluidity of movement, moaning and whimpering, and arching his body against his own caresses.

Martha slipped a hand down to his thigh, lightly stroking it as she watched him, enjoying the sight of him. "I'm going to make a mess this way," he panted.

"And why would you say that?" she asked with a tease, shifting her head to draw her tongue along the column of his neck before nuzzling near his ear, "What if I say that when you get close I want you to signal me and I'll take you in my mouth? Would you like that?"

John groaned, deep in his throat, a noticeable shudder passing through him at her words. "Yes," he hissed.

"It's up to you to tell me then, because I can feel you getting close, but I can't know for sure," Martha whispered, kneading the flesh of his thigh and taking his earlobe between her teeth.

"Oh yes. Yes, yes, _yes."_

"Good."

Martha shifted her head back to his shoulder, watching as his hand began to move more frantically along his length, twisting his wrist and squeezing its head now and then.

"Do you like being watched John?" she asked, the hand on his thigh now moving up to caress the underside of his scrotum with light fingertips.

"I like…that you like it," he panted. "You do like it…don't you?"

"Oh yes, very much. Very much indeed."

A soft cry escaped his lips at her words. "Close, very close, _so_ close," he whispered, his body quivering now.

Martha shifted quickly to her knees, moving down the bed to his side. He stopped touching himself, but she immediately took over the rhythm he'd held, stroking up and down along his hard, twitching cock.

She took him in her mouth, flicking her tongue against its head as her hand still pumped him below her lips. His hips rose and fell beneath her ministrations and she could hear him whispering and then almost shouting a string of obscenities as his climax coiled within him and then suddenly broke over him, pumping his warm salty essence into her mouth.

* * *

"I could stay like this forever," Martha mused, lying across his chest as the two of them lay sated on her bed, wrapped warmly in her duvet.

"Forever isn't real, it's a fairy tale."

She was surprised to hear a tinge of darkness in his voice, an almost sadness from a man who seemed so gentle, so filled with so much joy in the hours that she'd known him.

"Yes, but so is this. In a way," she replied, not wanting to get sucked into any rising wave of melancholy, even if she was admittedly letting herself get sucked in a bit with romantic fancies.

He laughed softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "Maybe it is, Martha. Maybe it is."


End file.
